


kalopsia, and oblivion

by keyringkie



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen, No beta I will die on this hill, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pog2020, basically a pog2020 what if gone wrong, descriptions of burning alive, hooo boy, more character tags coming soon :), moreso getting stuck in a burning building, rip clingy duo, so uh, the l'manburg election, this is gonna hurt, what if, what if pog2020 won, wilbur goes wacko
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28568214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyringkie/pseuds/keyringkie
Summary: His fingers shake with anticipation as he clears his throat. “And the winner of this election- by forty-sixpercent - is POG TWENTY-TWENTY!” He grins, tears welling up in his eyes. They won! L’manburg is… safe. Their country is safe.He won't lose his nation. Not today. Not ever.- + -or: a what-if fic, concerning POG2020 winning the first election and a president who would do anything to protect his country.[ previously known as "have we won? did we really?" ]
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	1. Act I, scene i

**Author's Note:**

> i disappeared off the face of the earth and suddenly i bring you this hhhahaha please enjoy <3

Wilbur hesitates a moment, tracing the edge of the paper with so many numbers, so many statistics, the results circled at the bottom. Glaring black text bores a hole in his hand as he pauses again. He almost doesn’t want to tell anyone, wishing to relish in the secrecy of his knowledge for just a little longer. A smile tugs gently at his lips but he bites it back, not wanting to get too far ahead of himself. He shuts his eyes for a moment, inhaling. Preparing himself.

His fingers shake with anticipation as he clears his throat. “And the winner of this election- by forty- _ six _ percent - is POG TWENTY-TWENTY!” His face breaks into a grin, straining to see past the tears welling up in his eyes. He did it.  _ He did it! _ They won! L’manburg is… safe. Their country is safe.

Tommy whoops and crashes into him with a hug, nearly toppling both of them off the stage with the pure force and energy. His screaming is loud in Wilbur’s ears, but he understands the excitement and scoops Tommy into a hug, nearly shoving him off the stage playfully. His brother yelps and scrambles backwards before smacking Wilbur lightly on the head, the two laughing in each other's arms. Tubbo looks up at the two a little worried, a large smile breaking across his face.

They won! They did it. Everything’ll be okay. Nothing can go wrong now.

Wilbur’s face hurts from smiling. He shoves the paper into his coat pocket and takes the stand again. He taps the microphone, double-checking it works, before he looks up.

Up at the country he’s built, he’s fought for. The country he won in the war and won again in this election, his country. His L’Manburg.

His smile never wavers as he leans forwards, setting his elbows on the podium.

“Hello everyone! I’m back.”

His voice echoes slightly on the walls surrounding them, laughter tittering through the crowd. He glances at Schlatt, Quackity, George. Fundy, Niki. All of them hovering hesitantly on the wings of the stage. He waves them off.

“C’mon, guys, head on down. Thank you for an honorable race, and I hope to maintain good relations with all of you. It was a pleasure competing with you. Each of you has earned my respect in that manner.”

The formalities and pleasantries chip away a bit at his glee, but he catches Fundy rolling his eyes and Tommy biting his lip to stifle his laughter at the sheer stupidity of it and suddenly his smile comes easily once more.

He nods at Quackity, who glares at him as he clambers off the stage.  _ Interesting. _

“Anyways, folks, I don’t want to keep you here too long. Thank you for re-electing me as your president! I promise to serve just as well as I did my first term. Ah… what else was there.”

He runs a hand through his hair, thinking. Tubbo cups his hands, yelling up to the stage.

“First decree, Wil!”

“Ah, right! Thanks, Tubbo.” He ruffles his own hair again before he replaces his beanie, humming in thought. Tommy glances at him, grinning ear to ear. An understanding passes between the two.  _ I trust you, Wil. Do what’s right. _

He clears his throat. “My first act as president…”

Wilbur drums his fingers on the podium, thinking for a moment. The air seems to shift, the lighthearted triumph morphing into something more serious. Sinister, maybe. Someone shifts awkwardly in the crowd, a cough echoing in the sudden silence.

“...yeah. My first act as president of L’Manburg is to imprison J. Schlatt, on the grounds-” Wilbur holds up a hand, ticking off the charges on his fingers- “of illegal services, a scam business, and voter fraud.”

There’s no… outright objections. Tommy and Tubbo exchange a look, and Quackity seems to be  _ seething, _ but Schlatt just raises an eyebrow and his hands in surrender.

“Tommy, Fundy, please escort Schlatt to his cell.”

Tommy glances at Wilbur one last time before he hops off the stage, leaping straight off the front rather than detouring to the stairs. He looks back, once, while helping Schlatt along. The ram-horned businessman is strangely complacent, a glimmer in his eyes that puts Tommy on edge.

Wilbur pauses for a moment, letting the silence settle once more on the crowd.

“Mmmm… oh, that’s right! Tubbo, c’mere!”

Tubbo scrambles from his place in the stands up the stairs, at attention in an instant.

“Ah, relax. We’re gonna have a festival! There was one being planned regardless of the results, but… eh, it feels conceited to say this.”

He grins at Tubbo, who manages to match his excitement. The festival! They’d almost forgotten.

Wilbur turns back to the crowd, clasping his hands. “Yeah, a festival. A month from now, so… eh, we can push it up a little. November sixteenth?”

Tubbo bounces on his feet, grinning. “November sixteenth.”

“There we go! Well, I think that about wraps up this election! Thank you all again for attending, and casting your vote.”

He casually salutes and watches the crowd disperse. He pulls Tubbo behind the stage, the smile never leaving his face.

“Alright, Tubster, you’re in charge of this whole thing. You and Fundy, alright? Feel free to ask me or Tommy or Niki if you need any extra help.”

“Yes, Mr. President!”

He dismisses the kid with a grin, watching Tubbo run off in the general direction Tommy had disappeared in with Fundy, ( _ and Schlatt too, _ a voice whispers) boots thudding on the wooden planks of the Path. 

After watching Tubbo disappear around a corner, Wilbur slinks back onto the stage, leaning on the podium. He stares at the empty- wait, no not empty.

Quackity doesn’t seem to notice that Wilbur returned, slumped in a chair. His beanie is askew, sunglasses propped on his forehead. Tired eyes stare at nothing, the sun beaming directly in his face. Wilbur claps his hands, looking at Quackity expectantly.

The latter jumps slightly, sunglasses tumbling downwards and landing at an awkward angle on his nose. He adjusts them, glancing around him before he shoots Wilbur a glare and storming off.  _ A liability. Wilbur’s going to have to take care of that. _

He descends from the stage, staring out at the empty courtyard. His boots echo on the cold cobblestone, and the sun sets on an old era, the dawn of a new emerging even as the seconds tick past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> minor edits made 2/22/21 i just wanted to rework some wordings :)


	2. scene ii

“Tubbo! Over here!”

Tommy waves, grinning. His fingers trace the familiar ridges of the disc in his hand, the other finding its way through his hair before settling on the back of the bench he’s sitting on. Rough wooden planks dig into his back, the sun hitting his face at such an angle that his hair almost appears to glow.

Tubbo jogs over, grinning as he swings over the back and settles next to Tommy with a thud, his blue revolutionary jacket snagging a bit on the corner. The two laugh for a moment as Tommy fumbles with the disc, sliding it into the jukebox. The familiar bouncy melody of Cat floats through the air, the duo taking a moment to absorb the music and the sunset.

Tommy bumps Tubbo with his shoulder. “Guess that pufferfish really did its job, aye?”

The two burst out laughing, slowing down for a moment before they exchange a look and start laughing again. Pure bliss radiates from the duo, even if just for a few seconds.

Tubbo’s smile dims slightly as the two calm down. He fiddles with his jacket cuffs.

“Lucky you didn’t  _ eat _ it.”

Tommy’s grin widens at that, and the two quiet for a moment. The disc continues to play as the sun traverses its path, oranges and grays painting the sky.

He glances at Tubbo, poking his side.

“Ow- What was that for?”

“Stop _frowning_ , bitch! We just won L’Manburg back!”

“You and Wilbur won L’Manburg back. I was just... there.”

“Whatever, same difference. This is a cause to celebrate!”

Tubbo’s smile fades even more, a sad glint in his eyes. He shifts uncomfortably, moreso from the tension in the air than the discomfort of the bench

“...Tommy, Wilbur  _ jailed _ Schlatt.”

“Yeah? And what of it?”

“Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

Tommy scoffs, popping the disc out of the jukebox and slipping it into his pocket, searching for a new one.

“Not particularly. I trust Wilbur’s judgement.”

“Tommy, Schlatt was jailed on the charges of scamming and voter fraud.”

“I know that much, I was _there_ , Tubbo.”

“It’s just-” Tubbo hesitates a moment, fiddling with his fingers. “It’s just that… Fundy quite literally admitted that he rigged something up for the laughs. And L’Manburg was built out of a drug van, and you and Big Q have run countless scams.”

Tommy leans back slightly, discs forgotten, and scowls. “...what’s your point?”   


“Are you sure Wilbur jailed Schlatt for good reason?”

Tommy’s silent for a moment before he abruptly sits up, staring straight ahead of him.

“No.” It comes out choppy, and forced. Tommy clears his throat before he starts again, rattling off nonsensically. “I mean- Of  _ course _ he wouldn’t, he’s Wilbur! Tubbo, Wilbur literally lead us to freedom! He’s the reason we had that goddamn election, he’s the reason we won the war! He’s my fucking _brother_ , you prick, he knows what he’s doing.”

Tubbo shrinks back slightly at every word, nodding along.

“Yeah. Sorry. I was just… thinking about it, I guess.”

“Well, stop thinking!” That earns a snort. “We can chill out for a bit anyway, it’s not like Wilbur’s gonna make us do any fucking work today.”

“I guess you’re right.” Tubbo swings his legs, scooting slightly closer to Tommy as the sun sets on L’Manburg once more.

* * *

Quackity pokes his head into the Camarvan, flinching slightly when he makes eye contact with Wilbur.

“You, uh. You called?”

Wilbur leans back from where he’d been hunched over at the table in the center of the van, sweeping aside papers and pointing at the chair across from him.

“Yeah, yeah! Nice to see you, Big Q.”

Quackity settles down nervously, bouncing his leg.

“It’s, uh, nice to see you too. What’s up?”

Wilbur kicks back a little, swinging his legs onto the table. He folds his boots neatly, one on top of the other, and grins at Quackity.

“Well, you see Quackity, you’re quite… the liability right now.”

Quackity shifts in his seat, leaning forwards slightly and settling his elbows on the table, propping his face up with his hands.

“What’dya mean?”

Wilbur waves an arm dismissively. “Let me rephrase that. You’re not… you aren’t British, are you?”

Quackity scoffs. “I mean, yeah. I’m Mexican, bro. Thought you knew that.”

“Ah. See, Quackity, you weren’t really  _ around _ for the founding years of L’Manburg. You weren’t quite active during the war either, if I’m not mistaken?”

“Yeah, you’d be right.” He glances at his wrist, three inky black and bold tally marks etched on his skin, before he glances at Wilbur’s, two tally marks barely visible beneath his sleeve. (He knows the story, of course. Anyone in L’Manburg does. The Final Control Room.)

“So… See, the thing is, Big Q, you’re being put on probation.”

“The fuck??? Wilbur, where did this even-”

The president raises a finger, cutting Quackity off without a single word. He pulls a sheet of paper out of his pocket and sighs, rattling off some official statement.

“This has been discussed in depth with the current cabinet. Effective tommorrow, you are to report to Tubbo at sunset each day. You are being assigned a community service quota of 80 hours within the next month. In order to meet this quota, you will be maintaining the walls of L’Manburg and assisting Fundy with-”

He sighs, sliding the paper across the table. Scrawled signatures and an official-looking stamp confirm the legitimacy of the document.

“Look, basically, tell Tubbo what you do every day and help Fundy deal with Schlatt, alright? Just for this month.”

“...What the  _ fuck? _ ”

Wilbur raises a hand up in mock surrender. Quackity snatches the paper from the paper, scanning the lines. 

“Sorry, Big Q.”

“You’ve got- this is  _ bullshit,  _ there’s not even a proper charge on this-”

“Quackity.”

Something in Wilbur’s voice sets Quackity on edge, nearly bolting out of the van on instinct.

“Y-Yeah, you know what, sure, this is fine. Nice talking to you Wilbur!”

“Lovely meeting with you again, Quackity.”

Wilbur leans back in his chair a little, watching Quackity scramble out of the van.  _ What a lovely way to end the day. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i should probably start updating at more reasonable times but i always finish writing later at night. oH WELL-


	3. scene iii

“Fundy, can you get that?”

“Ah, shit- yeah, I got you Tubbo.”

Fundy climbs the scaffolding carefully, pinning the other end of the bunting to the stands scattered around the courtyard. Tubbo grins, surveying his surroundings.

Festival preparations are well underway, colorful decorations dotting the wooden podium. Balloons swing in the air, tied haphazardly to chairs and fence posts. Streamers and banners are strung up on walls and between the stalls, lanterns gleaming faintly in the sunlight. Tubbo scrunches his nose and sighs, placing his hands on his hips.

“We still have so much to  _ do. _ ”

Fundy leans on one of the stalls, startling suddenly when it cracks slightly under his weight. He jumps forwards, standing awkwardly with his arms in the air as the stall sways a scary amount.

“...You could say that again.”

Tubbo sighs, crouching down to adjust the stabilizers for the table.

“Yeah, we really should’ve had a higher budget for this. Oh well, we make do.”

Fundy sighs, tying off another streamer. He glances up and meets eyes with Quackity, who is barreling towards the two at record speed. “Ah, fuck. Is it that late already?”

“AYEEEEEE-” Quackity has a shit-eating grin on his face, bouncing on his heels. His hoodie is slightly askew and roughly pulled over his pants. Fundy sighs and internally smacks himself, knowing that Big Q had… probably barely just gotten dressed.

“Hi Big Q!” Tubbo’s tone is too cheery to match the distress Fundy is feeling. “Gonna go visit Schlatt?”

“You know the deal by now Turbo! Got the keys, Fundy?”

Fundy sighs, tossing the ring at Quackity, who barely catches it. “Yeah, yeah. Tubbo and I are… way behind on the festival shit, so can you go on your own for today? I won’t tell Wil, and I doubt Tubbo will either.”

Tubbo spins in a circle, closing his eyes and barely catching himself from tripping over his own feet. “I do not see.”

Fundy smiles apologetically. “That okay?”

Quackity shrugs, jangling the keys in his hand. “It’s chill, I got it!”

He rattles keys again as he bounces off, jogging along the Path towards the holding cell Schlatt’s in.

Tossing the keys onto the table, he assembles a mish-mash of random foods on the metal tray. The iron bars rattle a short distance away, Schlatt leaning against them with a stupid grin on his face.

“On your own today, hm?”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Quackity slides the tray towards Schlatt, hopping onto the table and fiddling with the keys as he waits for the man to eat.

Schlatt picks at his food, eating slowly, glancing up every few minutes. His smile widens as the door creaks open, light footsteps approaching as a hand settles on Quackity’s shoulder.

“Hello there.”

Quackity tenses up instantly, going rigidly still. He knows that voice. He should run, he should leave- but then he opens his mouth.

“Hi Dream.”

A low chuckle as the fingers tighten on his shoulder. Quackity winces slightly but tries to keep up a smile, nervously grinning at the green hooded man next to him.

“How’s it- uh, how’s it going? I don’t think you’re actually supposed to be here-”

“Ah, you know me. I’m sure you’d make an exception, hm?”

Schlatt rattles the bars again, waving at the two. “Heya there.”

“Uh- sure then! What brings you around these parts, Dream?”   


Quackity’s voice trembles slightly as he latches onto the nearest item - a spare meal tray, cold metal shocking on his fingertips.

“Oh, you know. Just popping in to visit our favorite… what’d Wilbur call him? Prisoner? Traitor?”

Quackity flinches, fingers curling tighter on the tray. It warms slightly beneath his touch.

“He’s not- he’s not a traitor.”

He hates how his voice shakes, how much doubt is laced into his words. His spine straightens slightly, and he glares down the hood with its back turned to him.

“Wilbur had reasoning to imprison Schlatt.”

Dream turns slowly, peering at Quackity over his shoulder. Glaring green eyes pierce directly into brown, Quackity’s courage suddenly melting at his feet. The white metal of his mask doesn’t seem to hinder  _ any _ of the emotions the Admin is feeling, the doubt and pure anger, the madness, all so visible in just his gaze.

“We both know his reasoning is as flimsy as his presidency is.”

“What do you- what do you mean?”

“He means-” Quackity nearly jumps out of his skin, thrown off by Schlatt’s sudden voice. Dream leans back slightly at the movement, seeming to relax slightly. “-that Wilbur’s a little bitch, and he didn’t  _ earn _ his place.”

“The fuck does that mean?”   


“It means that we’re going to ask him to step down.”

Dream’s voice is dangerously calm, impulsive glee shining in his eyes.

“And if he… if he refuses?”

“Well. Surely, if he’s so stubborn about keeping his position, he’ll risk anything to keep it?”

Quackity shudders, carefully setting the tray down. He feels kind of stupid for holding it, anyways. He glances at the table once more and swipes the keys quickly, shoving them into his pocket before Dream can… who is he kidding, if Dream wanted them he’d have to just hand them over.

“Why are you telling me all this shit?”

Dream scoffs. “Oh, come on now. I would’ve thought you of all people would want in on this? What with only really running to keep Wilbur from like, tyranny or something. You gave a better effort than anyone else though, so props to you.”

The words wash over him in a haze, glimmering compliments and pride barely audible in the man’s voice, but it takes Quackity aback. Him? Doing something… right? And by Dream’s standards, too- the fuck is going on?

“Oh. Uh. Okay then?”

Schlatt leans on the bars, his suit... askew. Quackity barely notices. “Look, man, I’m gonna be president! I’m offering you position as VP. Take it or leave it, up to you.”

“And if I refuse?”

Schlatt’s laughter is cold, chilling. Devoid of any real happiness.

“Well, I’m sure Dream could show you exactly what’ll happen to Wilbur when we’re through.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i need to start updating these at reasonable times... instead of like..... 1am....... sighs
> 
> anyways i have no idea how to write quackity sorry if he's ooc,,,, look guys dream and schlatt haha nothing will go wrong !!!!!


	4. scene iv

The day of the festival arrives with very little fanfare and dozens of last-minute preparations.

Fundy and Tubbo scramble around for as late as 30 minutes before the festival is scheduled to begin, tying off more balloons and double-checking that there’s enough water bottles and triple-checking that the games won’t accidentally kill anyone. Tommy paces the stage, mumbling under his breath. The wood creaks beneath his footsteps, murmuring protests every few seconds. Wilbur is flopped across his humble chair along the side of the stage, hidden in the shade of the drapes. He watches Tommy with one eye and the sky with the other, glaring at the single cloud in the sky as if threatening it to start raining and ruin this perfect afternoon.

“Sit down, Toms, you’re gonna tire yourself out.”

Tommy looks frazzled as he settles next to Wilbur, jittering slightly and tapping his foot at an inhuman pace.

“Are you… aww, don’t tell me you’re nervous?” Wilbur laughs a little, cutting himself off when he sees the genuine anxiety on Tommy’s face.

“Well… it’s a big day, and Tubbo’s worked so hard on this. I don’t wanna fuck it up by giving a flop of a speech. Why’d you even ask me of all people to give a speech?”

Wilbur pokes Tommy’s side. Hard. Tommy yelps and glares at his brother, crossing his arms.

“You’ll be fine. I gave it to you because you’re literally- you’re the vice president, Tommy! We did it, and I wanted to give you a chance to show off a little.”

“Right. Yeah.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes, nudging Tommy with his shoulder. “I’m giving a speech too, idiot. It’ll be fine.”

“Of course. Tommy Innit can do no wrong!”

Wilbur laughs at the grandeur and false confidence of his brother, nodding slightly. “Tommy Innit can do no wrong.”

The people begin trickling in, Niki the most prompt of everyone on the guest list. She’s… what, like 20 minutes early? Wilbur clambers off the stage to help her set out the stuff she’s brought along, a dozen or two small cakes and other baked goods that look too good to eat. Tommy attempts to snag one and promptly gets told off, laughter echoing in the courtyard as the others slowly begin to show up.

Tubbo tugs Tommy back onto the stage, the younger protesting and dragging his feet (mostly for show, but also because he really doesn’t want to give a stupid speech-). Tubbo settles on the small chair set out for him, staring out at the sky rather than the crowd. Tommy (albeit begrudgingly) drops onto his own seat, bouncing his leg as he waits for Wilbur.

“Hello?”

The microphone squawks with feedback, a wave of nervous laughter floating through the courtyard. Wilbur shoots Tommy a pointed look before he continues his spiel, clearing his throat.

“Hello there! Today, we welcome , ah, friends, allies, and citizens alike. Today is a day of festivities, of pleasure. Today is a day to celebrate a victory hard earned! It’s a day to relax and enjoy yourself, and I thank you all for going out of your way to attend today.”

Wilbur leans to the side, glancing at the sky for a moment. The sun stares back at him, beaming golden rays just barely avoiding his eyes as it begins its slow descent through the sky. The light almost feels… tangible. He lets himself smile, a hint of joy growing in his eyes. The wind breezes past, playfully teasing up his hair for a moment, sending balloons and streamers alike into a small frenzy.

“Before we officially begin, I’d like to welcome my brother in all but blood and this nation’s vice president to the stand. Tommy?”

Tommy startles and stumbles up to the podium, where Wilbur gives him a reassuring grin as the two swap. He settles the sheet of paper he’d hastily scribbled out the night before, staring at the words for a moment.

“Uh, hello everyone!”

An awkward pause of silence that drags on for just a beat too long. 

“Thank you for your, um, support in the most recent election. It’s an honor to stand before you as- holy  _ shit, _ fuck this-”

Tommy makes a face, ripping apart the paper he had written. He scrunches the shreds into a ball and tosses it to the side, sighing. There’s a few scattered laughs in the audience.

“That was. So  _ incredibly _ awful. Okay.” Tommy drums his fingers on the wooden podium, exhaling.

“I’m gonna keep this short because I’m not great with words- but thanks for voting for POG2020! And if you didn’t, uh. Fuck you I guess, we’re here anyways!”

Tommy grins, glancing at Tubbo, who rolls his eyes.

“L’Manburg will remain peaceful under our- term? At least, Wilbur’s promised to keep things under control for as long as he remains president.”

He looks back at Wilbur, who gives him a reassuring nod, saluting playfully. Tommy turns back to the crowd, rolling his head with a smile on his face.

“As this nation’s vice president, I’d like to thank you all for being here. So… let the festival begin!”

Almost as if on cue, there’s a thundering explosion. Smoke kicks up, settling for a moment in an awful haze that drifts through the entirety of the tiny nation.

And visible in the new crater in the walls there’s a familiar metal mask, white rimmed goggles reflecting in the sun, black hair nearly obscuring a messily tied headband.

Gleaming netherite purposefully strides forward, metal boots clanking loudly on cobblestone.

Tommy’s gaze flickers for a moment - shock, confusion, fear, anxiety, anger - before he glares down the Dream Team, fingers curling tightly on the wooden podium.

“What the  _ fuck _ are you guys doing her-”

There’s a hand on his shoulder. A squeeze. He’s lightly directed to the side, barely allowing the movement to happen because  _ they won, they had their nation, so what is that green bastard planning? _

Wilbur’s eyes settle on Dream’s, impartial. Cold. Distant. Brown meets green in a clash of the ages, a war in their gaze.

“Dream.”

The masked man tugs the hood off his head, exposing dirty blond hair streaked with white.

“Hello there.”

“I recall you weren’t on the guest list.”

“You would be correct.”

“Do you care to explain your intrusion? The- the attack you have so  _ blatantly _ made on my nation?”

The chuckle that tumbles out of Dream is so utterly devoid of humor.

“Wilbur, you- you’ve become a tyrant.”

“Ex _ cuse _ me?”

“You heard me!”

Dream levels his sword, pointing his blade up at the president. It’s a sight to behold, really. The outside world trickles in through the cracks they’ve forced into the walls, a strong gust of wind sending a loosely tied banner flying off into the air. He jabs the air forcefully, trying to prove his point.

“You’re- you’re a loose canon! You’ve set up your laws and standards, letting those who wrong you fall on the short side while those you love remain safe! You refuse to give up your power-”

“I won this election fair and square, Dream.”

The words are concise. Calculated. Careful, testing the waters. Dangerous, daring Dream to go further.

“FAIR MY ASS! You  _ jailed _ Schlatt for- for  _ daring _ to go against you! You’ve made an enemy of your citizens, made an enemy of your nation! Not that you’d notice, of course you wouldn’t - willfully  _ blind _ as long as you have what you want!”

There’s something more than just blind rage in Dream’s voice - something built on this innate sense of justice, on the shreds of morality he has left.

“I am here on behalf of the Dream SMP to ask you to  _ step down _ from your presidency.”

Wilbur pauses. Pauses to consider the man’s words, to weigh his options. And with a deft lift of his chin, a set in his jaw, he makes his choice. Sets his fate.

“No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was originally gonna cover so much more plot but like.... im not used to writing so many words...... it was gonna turn into like a 5k chapter i cant do that................. head in hands


	5. scene v

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **CW for descriptions of burning alive.**  
>  it's not in depth but he gets stuck in a burning building.
> 
> stay safe :)

There’s a heavy silence in the air. Dream shifts slightly, spinning his sword in his hands before he drops it back into his inventory, raising his shield pointedly.

“No?”

“I won this country, Dream. From you in the war. From Schlatt in the election. You will  _ not _ take L’Manburg away from me.”

Sapnap advances a few steps, shield at the ready on his arm. He positions himself between the crowd and Dream. George scofs, sliding to the side, angling himself towards the stairs leading up to the podium.

There’s a shift in Dream’s stance as he lowers his sword, gaze switching from steely resolve to almost… amusement.

“Can you really afford to fight me on this, Wilbur?”

“Maybe- maybe he has a point, Wil.”

Fundy takes a step forwards, stares up at his father, brows creased. He’d been worried about Wilbur before, but now… they weren’t ready for war again. Not so soon. They’d just won their country, surely they could afford to calm down for at least a few months. Their resources were already exhausted. “You-”

Wilbur cuts him off quickly, shifting to the side. “I expected better from you, Fundy.”

He grits his teeth, balling his hands tightly into fists. Anger surges through him, the bottle he’d been keeping shoved in a corner and ignored  just like him spilling open in a half-second. “Who gave you the right to expect  _ anything _ from me?”

Wilbur scoffs, waving Fundy off. “Fundy, please, I’m trying to-”

“ _ Do not say we will continue this conversation later _ .”

There’s pure malice laced into Fundy’s voice as he jabs an accusatory finger at his so-called father. Dream and his threats can wait for now. This talk has waited far longer.

“Every time- every single time! Whenever I try to talk to you, you brush it off saying you’ll talk to me later or not now, Fundy, and it’s been  _ months _ , Wilbur! I’ve tried to have a conversation with you countless times, but you never listen! Have you forgotten that you’re my  _ father _ ?”

Wilbur’s gaze remains neutral, gritting his teeth as he listens to Fundy ramble.

“Fundy, I have more important things to do than-”

“Better things to do than be a present father? To say more to me than just ‘hello’ and ‘go away’? Shouldn’t  _ you _ of all people know exactly what it’s like to be left behi-”

“Stop.”

Fundy instinctually shuts his mouth, a shock of fear washing over him before his anger increases a tenfold.

“Stop? WHY SHOULD I STOP! YOU LEFT ME BEHIND, JUST LIKE YOUR  _ OWN _ DAD DID-”

“I WAS WINNING A WAR, FUNDY, FOR THE NATION I BUILT-”

“OH, THE WAR! LET’S TALK ABOUT THAT! LET’S TALK ABOUT HOW YOU THREW LITERAL  _ CHILDREN _ INTO A WARFRONT FULLY WELL KNOWING THEY COULD  _ DIE- _ ”

“I TOLD YOU I DIDN’T WANT YOU TO FIGHT WITH ME-”

“I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT MYSELF, WILBUR!”

Father and son alike are short of breath, glaring at each other. Both refuse to back down, too caught up in their own conflict to remember the other until Dream clears his throat.

Both whip around to face him, glowering anger smashing into the masked man with tremendous strength. He cringes slightly before he continues.

“Right, since you two seem like you’re finished for now-” he shoots a pointed look at the small crowd that has yet to dissipate, a dozen or so people who were awkwardly sitting while the two yelled- “I’m giving you four days.”

Wilbur arches an eyebrow, pushing aside the argument he was just having with Fundy.

“Four days until?”

“Four days to make up your mind. To realize that you’re a shitty leader and step down of your own free will.”

“I’m sure your timeline will be unnecessary then, Dream, as you see I won’t be changing my mind.”

Dream tilts his head slightly, a small smile tugging at his lips behind the mask.

“Why? Because you’re a good leader? Because the people  _ love _ you, don’t they?”

Wilbur glowers for a moment, crossing his arms. “Yes, exactly. Why do you mention it?”

Dream…  _ laughs _ . There’s a sinister air behind his chuckles as he sheaths his sword, barely containing his glee.

“If you’re such a  _ good leader,  _ who’s really on your side?”

Wilbur’s fingers tighten their grip on his arms, balance shifting slightly. “What- What do you mean?”

Dream spreads his arms, gesturing vaguely. “I mean… is there anyone  _ really _ with you? Other than Tommy, of course, loyal as ever.”

Tommy flares slightly, shoving Wilbur to the side and yelling down at the admin. “Shut the fuck up, bitch, we’ve got Tubbo! And- and-”

Dream laughs again. “Do you now?”

There’s amusement in his voice, a teasing lilt that makes Tommy shudder. “Yeah we do, bitch! Stop acting all cocky and shit, you’re not-”

“Are you sure you even know your best friend?”

“Course I do, Tubbo and I are inseparable-”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself, then?”

Tommy scoffs, confidently turning to- “Tubbo?”

His best friend is quivering, staring directly down at Dream. He refuses to meet Tommy’s eyes, fiddling with his sleeve.

“Tubbo…? C’mon man, you’re scaring me-”

Tubbo inhales sharply, taking jerky steps forwards and leaping off the stage, wincing as he lands on his feet. His hands shake as he turns back to Tommy, a weak smile on his face.

“It… It’s too good to be true, Tommy. Open your eyes.”

Tommy staggers backwards slightly, knocking into Wilbur, who places a careful hand on his shoulder.  _ This…  _ has _ to be a lie. _

“Tubbo…?”

His best friend - his  _ best friend! _ \- bites his lip and kicks at the ground, avoiding looking up at the stage as he retreats behind Dream.

“I’m sorry, Tommy. It- I don’t want to, but-”

“That’s enough, Tubbo.”

Wilbur’s voice is firm, low. Dangerous, almost. His grip tightens slightly on Tommy’s shoulder, squeezing in what he hopes is a comforting manner. Tommy chokes back a cry and swipes a sleeve over his face, glaring at Dream through watery eyes.

“Fuck you. Fuck you both.”

Tubbo flinches at the tone, curling in on himself slightly, and Quackity materializes beside him, offering a gentle comforting touch. The two hug, Tubbo burying his face into Quackity’s hoodie. Big Q glares at Wilbur, staring daggers at the president from the safety of the protection of the Dream Team.

Wilbur is busy comforting Tommy on stage, hushing the younger gently. He pats Tommy’s back, gently coaxing him off the stage. Just before his foot hits the first step down, he turns to Dream.

“Piss off already. Haven’t you done what you came for?”

Dream laughs, turning on his heel. “Oh, you’ll see Wilbur. You’ll see.”

The group leaves with little protest. Tubbo hobbles along, leaning heavily on Fundy. He glances back one last time, taking in his home, his memories, his country. Leaving it behind-

_ No, he’s not leaving it behind. He’s doing this to  _ save _ the country. Surely? That’s why he left behind Tommy. Why else would he… _

Quackity walks a short distance behind the duo, the usual bounce in his step dulled from the earlier events. He muses that he’s doing this for a good cause, not just because he’s been blackmailed into doing so.

Dream and George talk quietly amongst themselves, two friends. Tubbo… tries not to look at them.

Sapnap... 

“ _SAPNAP! YOU FUCKING BITCH-_ ”

He laughs, flint and steel heavy in his hand. The flames lick aimlessly at his skin as the stage burns around him, the fire bright in the early night. Smoke pours into the sky, the wooden stage and woolen red drapes catching fire.

Tommy tackles him, eyes still red from tears. Sapnap shoves him off unceremoniously, a loud crash as the wood crumples from the force of the toss.

Sapnap crouches at the edge of the hole, netherite protecting him from any potential effects the fire might have. There’s an appeal in the flames, isn’t there? Protection built from the depths of the Nether, bringing its warmth to the overworld. He stretches his fingers, clicking his flint absently. Sapnap slips away, humming in harmony with the destruction.

Tommy- Tommy can’t  _ breathe_. It’s so hot- it hurts, it hurts, it hurts like  _hell_. He screams for help, coughing from the effort. His chest heaves.  _ How long has he been here _ ? The wood is heavy. He can’t move. It hurts.

_ What a sad way to go,  _ he muses quietly. _ To  _ Sapnap _ , of all people. _

He can’t  _ breathe _ .

There’s another, more subtle explosion. George yawns, unamused, glancing back towards the main area of L’Manburg. Smoke drifts in wisps through the sky, cutting through the low oranges and purples of the dying sky. Sapnap’s diversion worked, then. 

Dream grabs his hand, carelessly tugging his partner out of the holding cell.

Schlatt grins at Tubbo and Quackity, pride radiating off his every motion. His suit is askew, bright red tie hardly kept together and jacket half shrugged off. He cocks up an eyebrow, waggling his fingers at the two with a smug grin on his face.

“Miss me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crawls out of my hole and drops this at your feet and retreats back into the shadows
> 
> 1.5k words...... exhales slowly


	6. scene vi

Tommy bounces his good leg, listening to his communicator ring. The sheets fold and unfold themselves a dozen times between his fingers. He can feel himself breathing too fast. Wilbur’s gonna be back any minute now, he can’t-

The familiar ping of an answered call cuts off his thoughts. He straightens in an instant, releasing the blankets from his death grip.

“PHIL! Oh, thank  _ fuck _ -”

He instantly regrets yelling, sputtering out a cough as his throat feels like it’s on fire. Jesus  _ fucking _ christ. Keeps forgetting he’s still healing or some shit. Stupid smoke.

“H- Hi mate, how’s it going? Are you.. okay?”

Tommy takes a minute to recuperate before he laughs, calmer than usual to avoid completely ruining his voice. “Fuck no. But, whatever, how’s it going big man? Still kicking it in the middle of nowhere?”

Phil groans, the eyeroll audible from the call. “Yeah, make fun of me all you want but hardcore is fun as all hell. ‘Sides, you’re practically hardcore on Dream’s server aren’t you?”

“No I am just  _ better _ than you-”

“Okay, Tommy.”

The two laugh for a bit. Tommy can hear chests and shulkers on the other end of the call, Phil rummaging through dozens of items. There’s a thud on his own end and he snaps his head towards the door, exhaling when he realizes it was just someone walking past on the Path. Not Wilbur. (not yet, at least.)

“Shit. Right. Uh, the reason I called.”

“Yeah, I was wondering about that. You don’t ring too often.”

Tommy sighs, scratching his cheek with a finger. “Ah, yeah, it’s… complicated. Phil, d’you think you can.. I don’t know, come here?”

There’s a laugh of disbelief. “Here? As in, like, uh.. fuckin’... Dream’s server?”

“Yeah. Uh, Wilbur’s kinda… losing himself.” Tommy shrinks into himself slightly, sinking into the bed. He hugs his knees lightly, not wanting to risk accidentally hurting himself again.

“What? What’dya mean?”

“He’s not- that’s not the Wil I know, y’know? It scares me to see him like that sometimes. It’s like- I can see bits and pieces of him, yeah? But there’s times where he’s like a fuckin stranger in my brother’s body.”

There’s a moment of silence. Tommy’s eyes widen in sudden panic. “Fuck- wait, shit sorry, I shouldn’t have called him my brother-”

“You’re fine mate. I know the way you two function by now, have known for upwards six years now.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Right, right, sorry. Uh… so, what d’you think?”

“About coming there?”

“No, about giving me a fuckin’ elytra. Yes about coming here, fucking old man.”

Phil laughs. A shulker box closes on the other end, the familiar whirr of an ender chest taking its place. “I’ll try to get in by the end of the week. The approval process for getting onto Dream’s server is a bitch to deal with.”

Tommy grins, letting his leg bounce. “Thanks, Phil.”

“No problem mate. Wish you’d called sooner though.”

He freezes. Panic slides through him, guilt eating away at him from a source he didn’t even know existed.

_ I thought I could fix him. I thought it would work out. I thought everything would be fine. _

“I thought he’d be okay.”

It’s silent for a moment on the other end. “He will be. Bye, mate.”

“Bye Phil.” 

The call goes dead.

Tommy shuts off his communicator, tossing it aside. He smooths the sheets beneath his fingertips, feeling out the spindly wool beneath his hands. His nail snags on a loose thread and he pulls at it absently. He flops backwards onto his bed, a sigh of relief escaping him, a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. It’s cut off quickly by a hiss of pain, the burns and bruises littering his body protesting loudly. But.. it’s okay. Phil is coming. Wilbur will be okay. It’ll be okay.

Footsteps approach.

“Hey! Managed to snag a spare health pot from Niki.”

Wilbur ducks through the doorway, said potion clasped in his fingers. He shoots Tommy a lopsided grin, tossing it over.

“Drink up.”

Tommy catches it easily and downs the reddish-pink liquid. The artificial sugary taste is easy to drink, leaving a strange aftertaste that he makes a face at. An immediate sense of ease washes over him, the pain of his injuries subsiding substantially.

“Thanks, Wil.”

Wilbur salutes casually, his grin slightly more forced.

“It’s the least I can do, look after you. It’s my fault you got hurt anyways.”

Tommy scoffs, setting the empty bottle onto the floor. “Yeah, this is completely your fault.”

He eases himself back to lying down, dramatically draping a hand across his face.

“Oh, Wilbur! How could you injure me so! It’s all your fault I charged straight into the fucking burning podium, mmm yes.”

Wilbur laughs, messing with Tommy’s hair as he settles on the bed, the weight shifting as he sits down. Tommy grins at him, moving to sit up with a quiet wheeze.

“You alright big man?”

Wilbur sighs, a bittersweet smile lingering on his face. “Never better, Toms.”

Tommy bumps into his shoulder. “Don’t fuckin’ lie to me, bitch.”

Wilbur pauses for a moment, mouth half-open hesitantly. Tommy rolls his eyes.   


“It’s not your fault I’m a dumb motherfucker. Honestly if you were there you probably would’ve just-” his voice goes high pitched and mocking in tone as he makes a face and tilts his head back and forth. “‘Oh Tommy, you child, go back to L’Manburg! Go back to L’Manburg and don’t be stupid bitch on your last life-”

“Holy shit you could have  _ died forever _ and it would’ve been my fault.”

Wilbur stares at the floor in front of him. Shocked silence engulfs the room, drowning the two sitting on the bed.

Tommy nervously bounces his leg.

“...not forever. Just…”

“...here. Yeah. Sorry, it’s just-”

“It’s my own fault I’m on my last life, bitchass.” Tommy rubs the single black line on his wrist, running his thumb over the clean edges. “I mean, you tried to stop me like a fucking coward-”

“FOR GOOD REASON!”

Tommy shrinks back a little, staring at Wilbur with wide eyes. Wilbur tugs at his hair, his breathing picking up.

“You- You’re  _ sixteen _ , Tommy, and you’ve died  _ twice _ and it’s all my fault. I want- I’m your brother, for fuck’s sake, I need to protect you, and I almost just lost you-”

He’s cut off by arms around him. He melts into the touch, tears staining Tommy’s shirt.

“Fuck. Sorry. I shouldn’t be-”

“You’re fine, Wil.”

Tommy shifts, resting his head on Wilbur’s shoulder.

“Thank you for taking me in.”

Wilbur scoffs lightly, wiping his eyes.

“What else would I do?”

Wilbur bites his lip, pacing in the Camarvan. A half-moon stares at him through the window, well into its descent from the sky. He swears under his breath, tapping the keys on his communicator again.

> _< **WilburSoot** > please?_
> 
> _< **WilburSoot** > I know you’re still busy but I need your help_

He hits the call button for the seventh time that night, tapping his foot impatiently. It rings for far too long.

He sighs when the line goes dead again.

_ Where’s the back-up when he needs it? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOO THATS THE END OF MY PLANS FOR ACT I
> 
> well. """act i.""" they're not technically acts or anything i just like calling em that smile
> 
> i reformatted a lot of things for this fic because 1) i didn't like the name, 2) i didn't want to expand it past one fic, 3) wanna try going at something longer.
> 
> philza minecraft!!! and currently unknown backup. it was weird to write something so close to fluff but i guess after almost dying tommy deserves it lmao
> 
> i like writing for this fic. very theraputic. actually maybe not theraputic but i have fun with it :)

**Author's Note:**

> kalopsia [ka·lope·see·uh] - the delusion of things being more beautiful than they really are  
> oblivion [oh·bliv·ee·uhn] - the state of being forgotten or discarded
> 
> :)
> 
> \- + -
> 
> socials haha  
> tumblr: keyring-kieran  
> instagram: keyringkie


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